


Letters

by Nekos_Black_Rose_13



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, Secret Admirer, marker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekos_Black_Rose_13/pseuds/Nekos_Black_Rose_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark begins receiving letters from an anonymous source. A secret admirer. He's had feelings for his best friend and roommate, Roger for a while now. Maybe this secret admirer will help him get over it. Roger has a problem speaking his feelings. So he decides to write anonymous letters to Mark explaining his emotions towards the filmmaker. As a secret admirer. (Basically, Marker fluff and romance. Rated for language)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here's my second Rent fanfiction. It has multiple chapters, but I have them all typed out so you don't have to wait forever for them like with my other chapter fics. I'll get to them as soon as I have inspiration. I hope you guys enjoy this!

January fifth, 1992 3:00 P.M. EST. On that date, at that time you would find Mark Cohen standing in front of his letter box, pulling out the small stack of mail sent to him and his roommate and best friend, Roger Davis. His camera bag was slug over his shoulder and his striped scar wrapped tightly around his neck. His fingers were nearly frozen from the winter air that crept through the cracks in the plaster of the walls and bad insulation. He climbed the stairs, going through the stack. Junk mail, junk mail, a letter from mom because he would hardly answer her calls, more junk mail. Wait...what was this? 

A single letter caught his attention. It was a simple, plain white envelope. There was no return address or even a sending address. Just a name. His name to be exact. It wasn't hand written. It looked like it had been typed out on a typewriter. It was slightly off center too. He stared at the letter as he made his way up to the loft. He was still staring at it when he walked in. Roger was sitting on the couch playing the same three cords over and over, trying to find inspiration. He looked up when Mark shoved the entire stack of mail under his nose except the strange letter. He even jumped a bit. He'd heard Mark come in but hadn't expected that. He took the mail, stopping his playing, and looked up at the filmmaker curiously. 

"What's that?" He asked, seeing the strange expression on his friend's face. Mark shrugged and sat down in the chair, placing his camera bag on the floor beside him. 

"It's weird," He said, turning the letter over so that Roger could see the strange way it was addressed to him. "It just has my name." Roger shrugged. 

"Maybe it's a prank," He said. "Open it. See what it is." Mark chewed on his bottom lip before sticking his finger under the seal and breaking it open. He pulled the single sheet of paper out and unfolded it. There was a coffee stain on the top right corner and the words were typed out in the same fashion as his name had been on the envelop. With a typewriter. His eyes moved over the page as he read the contents of the letter. It wasn't a prank, but a love letter. Or something like it. 

_Dear Mark,_

_I'm better at writing my feelings than I am at speaking them, so I'm sorry if this seems weird. I understand if you think I'm being stalkerish, but I really needed to tell you this. So, please. Bare with me?_

_I've been in love with you for a long time. I never realized it until about a week or so ago. It kind of just hit me smack in the forehead. You know, like when you're half awake and stumble around without really paying attention and end up walking face-first into a wall? Well, that's basically how this realization came to me. In the metaphorical sense._

_The way you chew on your bottom lip when you're uncertain about something, leaving it wet and slightly swollen, makes me want to kiss you. And the way you stutter when you're nervous, too. Same thing. But, when you get that look in your eyes when you're worrying I just want to wrap my arms around you and tell you that everything will be okay._   
_Is that wrong of me to want to do these things? To want to kiss you and hold you? To have you all to myself?_

_I don't really think it is. For now I'm gonna keep who I am a secret. I'm not quite ready for you to know who I am yet. I hope you'll be patient enough to let me build up the courage._

_Love,_

_Your Secret Admirer_

Mark read through the letter again. And then twice more. He had a secret admirer? Him? Roger was getting impatient. He stood and leaned over Mark's shoulder to get a look at the letter. He smirked. 

"Aw. Marky's got a secret admirer!" He said, ruffling Mark's hair playfully. Mark grimaced and looked up at Roger with narrow eyes. "Oh come on! It's sweet." He was smirking devilishly. Mark sighed and folded the letter, carefully placing it back into the envelope. 

"I-...I have no idea who it could be," He finally said, looking at his off-centered name on the envelope. "I mean...it could be any number of people!" He was sure that from some puffy white cloud Angel and Mimi were giggling like school girls over the fact that he had a secret admirer. 

"They'll tell you at some point," Roger said, moving to take his place on the wornout couch once more. "That's how secret admirers work. They write you letters until they're ready to reveal who they are." 

"Have you ever had a secret admirer?" Mark asked. Roger laughed and looked at him with a grin. 

"I had a lot of them in high school," He said smugly. "They kinda morphed into groupies when we came here." Mark rolled his eyes. 

"Oh yeah. I almost forgot," He said, sarcasm dripping from his words. Roger shook his head at him. 

"Get any good film?" He asked, changing the subject. Mark had almost forgotten about his camera in the shock. He reached down and pulled his camera out of his bag, placing the letter inside. He held the familiar weight of his camera in his lap, running his hand over it. 

"Not really," He admitted with a sigh. Roger tilted his head, silently asking for more of an explanation. "Nothing really caught my attention. So, I've got a bunch of crap and wasted film." 

"You'll figure something out," Roger said, picking up his guitar and starting to play something. He played more than three notes, so that was a definite improvement. The conversation ended and Mark stood to see what was in the kitchen that could be deemed edible. Cereal. That was all they had left. He poured some into a bowl and looked in the refrigerator. No milk. Dry cereal and water it was. He got a cup of water and sat down at the table, spooning dry Captain Crunch into his mouth. 

"Did you remember to take your AZT?" Mark asked absently. Roger made a sound in the affirmative and paused in his playing to lean down towards the tattered notebook to jot down something. 

It had been a little over a year since Mimi had left them to join Angel in the great beyond. At first Roger had been devastated by her passing. But he moved on rather quickly. When asked about it Roger simply said that Mimi would've wanted him to go on living instead of moping. Mark had been glad for that, silently thanking Mimi for her influence on him. Though Mark had felt pangs of jealousy every time he saw them holding hands or kissing, he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but friendship and brotherly affection for the outgoing dancer. Roger had helped her through her addictions and in return she had helped him become happier, even in death.   
Mark knew he had little to no chance with his best friend and crush. So...this new secret admirer just might help him get over him completely. He smiled softly into his bowl of dry cereal, remembering the typed words. It was nice to be admired. 

~~~MR~~~

January eighth, 1992, 7:34 P.M. EST. Roger Davis sat at a table in his friend Collins' apartment with his hands in his hair leaning over a typewriter staring at a white page of paper with only two words typed on it. 'Dear Mark'. It was a few minutes later that Collins walked into the room and saw Roger looking like he was about to start moping. He smiled and clapped the younger man on the shoulder, grabbing his attention. 

"Here," He said, placing a bottle of beer in front of him. "Take a break. Brainstorm." Roger sighed and leaned back, grabbing the beer. He hooked the top of it on the edge of the table and hit it, effectively popping off the top. He put it to his lips and took two long swigs from the bottle. 

"It's just hard to write it without giving away that it's me," He said putting the beer down. Collins grabbed a chair and sat down next to him, looking at the typewriter. It was the day after New Years, January second, when Roger had come to him asking him to help him come up with a way to tell Mark that he loved him. 

It had been Mimi, laying against the starch white pillows and sheets of her hospital bed, that had told Roger to stop procrastinating and tell Mark how he felt. No day but today. He was too nervous to just come out and say it, so Collins had helped him come up with the secret admirer plot. They had it all planned out. The letters would continue until February twelfth. The last letter would give a meeting place, date, and time. Then the truth would be revealed and they'd see how it went. 

Collins pulled a tightly rolled joint from his jacket pocket and lit it, taking a couple of hits before passing it to Roger. The pot usually loosened Roger's fingers up enough to let the words and ideas flow. Collins knew that Mark would never suspect Roger of being the one behind the letters. He was too convinced that Roger wasn't interested in him. Too busy hiding behind his camera to see what was glaringly obvious and right there in front of him. 

They passed the joint back and forth in silence until it was practically gone and Collins had to get a pair of needle nose pliers to serve as a roach clip. When the joint was gone and in the ashtray, the sound of Roger's typing resounded throughout the apartment. 


	2. The Second Letter and Mark's Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark receives the second letter from his secret admirer, as well as a cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeeeell, here's chapter two. I know that the chapters aren't really long, but this is basically just gonna be five chapters of fluff. I really hope you guys enjoy it :3

January eleventh, 1992 3:23 P.M. EST. Mark's nose was red from the cold January wind and his eyes bleary. It had been six days since he'd received the mysterious letter from his secret admirer. He was opening the letter box when a rather violent sneeze forced its way out of him. He groaned and wiped his nose with the rumpled tissue he pulled out of his pocket. There was less mail here than yesterday. He grabbed the stack, shut the letter box, and started up the stairs. Damn this weather. He felt sluggish and weak. He had a cold. 

He went through the stack of mostly junk mail and found another interesting letter at the bottom of the stack. Just his name typed out, just as slightly off-center as last time. He felt a smile grace his face. He entered the loft and dropped the rest of the mail onto the coffee table. Roger looked up at him. 

"Jesus, Cohen! You look like shit," He said instantly. Mark sniffled and sighed, giving Roger a look that said he was aware of just how shitty he looked. 

"It's just a cold," He said, voice nasally from congestion. He sat down without taking off his jacket or scarf. He curled up in the chair, his feet tucked under him as he opened the letter. 

"Your secret admirer write again?" Roger asked, moving the notebook from his lap to the coffee table. He leaned against the arm of the couch, watching Mark as he read the second letter he'd written to him. 

_Dear Mark,_

_It took me a while to get my thoughts together and figure out just what I should tell you this time. There's so much that I want to say to you that sometimes it all jumbles up in my head and I can't pick just one thing to focus on. I want to tell it all to you, but if I tried it would all come out in a confusing jumble. And then you might not understand what I'm trying to convey._

_I'm a person who's had a lot of sexual experience in their life. But I don't want to have sex with you. I want to make love to you. I want to be able to convey my emotions to you through that intimate act. I want to hold you close and memorize every inch-no, every centimeter-of your skin. I want to be able to love you with everything that I am._

_I want to take care of you. I want to always be there for you when you need me. I love you, Mark. If I'm being completely honest...you're my everything._   
_I hope you're smiling and blushing that adorable blush of yours when you read this. Speaking of your blush...I think it's so cute the way you duck your head hoping that no one will notice it. But, how can I not notice it? It's your blush. I always notice it._

_And your eyes. I love your eyes. They're so crystalline blue. They take my breath away. I could get lost in them. Would you get mad if I just stared at your eyes forever and got lost in them? Or would you blush that adorable blush and look down at the ground? I can't wait to find out._

_Love,_

_Your Secret Admirer._

Mark was blushing like mad. The fact that he had a cold didn't help either. But, he was smiling too. It felt really good to be admired like this. He folded the letter and placed it into the envelop. He quickly held the letter out to the side before sneezing twice. He groaned and wiped his nose on the worn tissue. Roger frowned. 

"Why don't you go get some rest?" He said standing. "I'll go out and buy some soup." Mark shook his head. 

"We need to save money," He insisted, sniffling. "There's a couple packs of ramen in the pantry. I'll take one of those." Normally he would've told Roger not to worry about him, but he was too damn tired and cold and worn out to argue. He walked into his room and placed the letter into the draw of his nightstand along with the other one before sitting down on the bed and kicking off his shoes. He curled up under his covers and fell asleep instantly. 

~~~MR~~~

January fourteenth, 1992 5:12 P.M. EST. Mark didn't even move except to breathe when Roger taped the note to the lamp on his bedside table. The thing didn't even work. He had no idea why Mark still had it. His cold was getting better and Roger was thankful for that. He left the loft, being as quiet as he could as he closed the main door. 

He made his way to Collins' apartment and knocked. It was only a minute before the taller black man answered and welcomed him in, joint between his lips. Roger entered and went towards the table that held the typewriter. 

"How'd he react to the second one?" Collins asked, offering the joint to Roger. The rocker took it and took a long drag. 

"He liked it," He said with a wide grin. "He's got a cold right now, so it probably made him feel a lot better." Collins chuckled and took the joint from Roger. 

"That's cute," He said, eyes sparkling. He loved his friends dearly. They were like family to him, and he was going to make damn sure they were happy before he left them to join his Angel. "Got ideas for the next one?" 

"Dozens," Roger replied sitting down and loading a blank sheet of paper into the typewriter. He types for about two hours, making sure the letter is perfect while he smokes pot and sips on beers with Collins. When he's satisfied he carefully folds the page before typing Mark's name onto the envelope. Hey slips the letter into the envelope and seals it.   
He leaves it in Collins' capable hands to put into their letter box. He'd let Collins borrow his copy of their letter box key for this purpose. Collins gives him two freshly rolled joints to give to Mark as a get-well present. Roger thanks him and makes his way back up to their loft. 

~~~MR~~~

January fourteenth, 1992 5:47 P.M. EST. Mark woke up from his nap and looked around his room with bleary eyes. He couldn't see a thing. He reached out to the nightstand and found his glasses. His hand bumped against the lamp and found paper taped to it. He frowned and looked over to see the note written in Roger's scraggly scrawl he called handwriting. 

_'Went to get inspired. Ramen in the microwave. Just turn it on for a minute to warm it up. Be back soon._

_-Roger.'_

Mark smiled softly and wiped his nose with a paper towel. He knew it was going to be raw by the time his cold was gone, but at least his nose wasn't leaking fluids everywhere. That was just gross. He stood and stumbled his way out of his room, across the living room, and into the kitchen. He turned the microwave on for a minute and waited for it to ding. When it did he pulled the warm bowl of ramen out of the microwave, found a fork and sat down on the couch to begin eating.

It was extremely quite without Roger playing his guitar, even with Mark's constant sniffling, coughing, and sneezing. After a bit he stood up and went to get the two letters he'd received from his secret admirer. He sat down on the couch again, not wanting to stay in his room all day, and began reading them again. He'd read over them so many times that the folds in the paper were beginning to wear out. He finished the ramen and pushed the bowl away, too tired to get up to put it away. He curled up on the couch and continued to read the letters until he fell asleep with them in his hands. 

Roger came home at 7:25 P.M. to find Mark asleep, clutching the letters loosely in his hands. He smiled softly to himself and left the joints on the coffee table, taking the bowl and fork to the sink to be washed later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! What'd you guys think? Please let me know. I'd really like feedback on this. Thank you!


	3. The Third Letter and Roger's Writer's Block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark receives the third letter from his secret admirer and Roger gets a small case of writer's block.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the third chapter. Sooner than I meant to post it, but I couldn't really help it XD

January seventeenth, 1992 4:03 P.M. EST. Roger is the one checking the letter box this time. Mark is up on the roof filming the streets bellow, hoping to get some kind of inspiration from it. Roger already knew that there was a letter from Mark's secret admirer waiting for him in the stack of mail he pulled from the box. He made his way back up, holding the letter in one hand and the rest of it all in the other. When he reached the loft he dropped the stack on the kitchen table before making his way up to the roof.   
Mark's cold had gone from bad to worse to better, and was now just sniffles and the occasional cough.The skin around his nostils was raw from blowing his nose on paper towels. Roger was just glad that it hadn't turned into pneumonia. 

"Markyyy," He called when he got up to the roof. Mark was kneeling at the side of the roof, doing a slow sweep of the skyline when he heard him. He sighed and continued, moving in a circle until Roger entered the frame. 

"And that would be my roommate Roger," He said in narration. "Come to try and write, probably." Roger laughed and held out the letter.

"Nope. This was in the mail," He said, waving it at Mark. "Thought you might want it." Mark shut off the camera and stood, dusting off his corduroys. He grabbed the letter from Roger and sat down in one of the chairs scattered across the roof, opening it eagerly. 

_Dear Mark,_

_I guess by now you're probably extremely curious about just who I am. I'd tell you about myself if it wouldn't give the big surprise away. All you really need to know about me is that I love you. It's the most important thing._

_I'm not exactly sure when I started to-_

A harsh gust of wind ripped the letter from Mark's hands and he shot up, running after it. Roger was quick to go after it too. The wind dropped the letter against the roof, but it still had it, making the paper flutter and shift against the concrete. Running just out of their reach as they approached it. 

"Get it!" Mark shouted, eyes wide. Roger jumped at it just before the wind grabbed it again, slamming his boot down on it. 

"Got it," He said with a sigh of relief. He bent to pick it up before lifting his boot from it. He cringed at the boot print left on the page. "Sorry..." He muttered as he handed the letter back to Mark. The filmmaker ignored the boot print and simply hugged Roger. 

"Thanks for saving it," He said with a smile. "Let's go inside. I'll finish reading it where the wind can't get it." Roger laughed and nodded. They made their way inside and both sat on the couch as Mark finished the letter. 

_I'm not exactly sure when I started to love you. It could've been from the first moment I saw you, or when you first pointed your camera at me, or even when you smiled at me over the still rolling camera. I'm really not sure. For all I know my love for you could've been there the whole time._

_I still remember what I thought of you the first moment I met you. Thick glasses magnifying those baby blue eyes of yours. I honestly thought you were a skinny dork. But, there was a thought in the back of my mind that was barely there, but more important. Beautiful. You're such a beautiful person, Mark. And I know that I don't deserve you. But I don't care. I'm selfish and I want you all to myself._

_Whoops. Gave something away, didn't I? I'm a selfish person. I want all of you to be mine and only mine. I don't want to share you. I know that's probably really unattractive, but I just can't help it! You mean everything to me, and I want to mean everything to you. I know that's probably sick and overbearing and horrible, but...can you blame me?_

_You're perfect, Mark. You're just so perfect and wonderful and beautiful. And it makes me want to wrap you inside my arms and never let go, never let anything happen to you that isn't something good. I can't imagine my life without you. You've become such a giant part of it. I'm always wondering about what you're doing, what you're thinking, what inspires you, everything._

_I'm selfish, and you're perfect, and I love you so much, Mark. Until next time._

_Love,_

_Your Secret Admirer._

Mark folded the letter and placed it into the envelope. He didn't care about Roger's boot print on it. It reminded him that his friend and secret crush had saved it from being kidnapped by the cold New York wind. He greatly apreciated it. He knew it was probably horrible of him to think that this secret admirer was his best chance at getting over Roger. They seemed to love him a great deal, and if he could find a way to return their feelings then...he just might get over his feelings for Roger. 

"They admitted that they're selfish," He said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his pale lips. Roger snorted and turned to stretch out across the couch with his head in Mark's lap. 

"That doesn't help you know who it is," He pointed out. "We know a lot of people who are selfish." Mark sighed, his fingers automatically going to run through Roger's hair out of habit. Despite Mark's feelings for Roger, this was comfortable. This was normal. This was them. Mark and Roger. Roommates and best friends, and sometimes closer than they should be. But did they notice that last part? Nope. 

"True," Mark agreed. "Whoever it is...they're doing a damn good job of keeping me in the dark about it. Using a type writer to mask their handwriting, and keeping the letters vague about anything that could give them away. And then there's the time periods between each one. They're so far apart that it really could be anyone." Roger chucked and reached up to poke Mark's cheek. 

"You'll figure it out," He said confidently. He didn't let on that the author of the letters had his head in Mark's lap. They day went on as the days normally did. Roger tried to write a song, Mark filmed him playing Musetta's Waltz and narrated. 

"This is Roger. Playing out his procrastination theme song." 

~~~MR~~~

January twenty-first, 1992 9:26 P.M. EST. Mark had gone to Joanne and Maureen's to help plan out Maureen's next protest so he wouldn't be back home until the early morning hours. Roger knew how this worked. So, there he sat, three hours later, staring at the two words 'Dear Mark' glaring back at him. Collins sat beside him rolling a joint. One out of many. There was a row of five across the table so far. Where the hell did he get all of this pot? 

"What's got you stuck this time?" Collins asked, his fingers tightly rolling the paper around the pot. His fingers moved on their own, having memorized the movements of rolling a long time ago. Roger sighed and dropped his hands against the table with a bang. The completed joints jumped and rolled. Collins stopped them from rolling off the table and looked over at Roger with raised eyebrows, waiting expectantly. 

"It's just-...I've gone through the physical and some of the emotional," He explained, already knowing that Collins knew what he was talking about. "And I know there's so much more to what I feel for him, but I feel like I'm grasping at straws with the ideas that I keep coming up with." Collins made a small noise, nodding as he finished up the sixth joint. He held it in front of Roger's face. 

"Start that up. I'll get you a beer. Then we'll brainstorm," He said standing and heading to the kitchen area of his apartment. Roger sighed, knowing better than to argue with Collins. He lit up the joint and took three good hits before Collins returned with a beer for him and one for himself. He sat down with a sigh, taking the tops off of both and handing one to Roger. "Alright. When you're around him what do you feel? Nervous, jittery, light-headed? Do your palms get sweaty?" Roger shook his head.

"No," He replied, handing the joint to Collins. "None of that happens. I feel...calm. Excited, happy, grounded, centered. He makes me fell like I'm..." He paused, licking his chapped lips and laughed at the simplicity of what he was about to say, "like I'm home. Like there's nothing more right than me and him just being there together." Collins grinned. 

"There you go," He said, clapping Roger on the shoulder. "Writer's block averted." Roger laughed and took another swig from his beer before turning towards the typewriter and starting to write once more. 

When he returned to loft Mark was still gone. The answering machine was blinking, signalling that someone had called. Roger contemplated leaving it alone until Mark got home but shrugged and went to rewind the tape and play it, seeing who had called. 

"Hey Roger," Mark's voice said through the speaker. Roger smiled. "So...I'm gonna be home pretty late." There were voices in the background. Probably Maureen and Joanne. "We're working through Maureen's ideas. You know how it goes. I'll most likely see you tomorrow. Bye. Oh! Don't forget to take your AZT. Later, Rog." There was a click and the message ended. Roger laughed softly and dutifully took his AZT before attempting to finish a song. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot! Only two more chapters to go!!! Hope you guys like it so far :D


	4. The Fourth Letter and Mark's Inspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark gets the fourth letter and a bit of inspiration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, guys. This took me longer to post than I thought it would. I got caught up in a lot of other things and I just remembered to do this! Thanks for being patient :3

January twenty-seventh, 1992 3:47 P.M. EST. Mark checked the letter box every day. Even on Sundays. Just waiting for another letter. Today he found one, along with two pieces of junk mail. He grinned and grabbed the small stack of mail before making his way quickly up the stairs to the loft. Roger looked up from his guitar at Mark's hasty entrance. He was about to ask before he saw the letter clasped in his hand. 

"Got another one today," Mark announced, plopping down on the couch beside Roger. 

"Then open it," Roger replied with a laugh, green eyes looking at the letter. He'd put a lot into this particular letter. Mark opened the letter with as much care as he had the others and pulled it out, unfolding it. 

_Dear Mark,_

_I've told you about how I love you and how certain things about me make me feel and give me urges to hold you or kiss you. But I don't think I've told you some of the more important things. Like how I feel just being around you. The typical answers are always 'nervous' and 'sweaty palms' and the like. But...that's just now true in this case. It's the complete opposite._

_I don't feel nervous at all when I'm around you. I feel calm, like everything is perfectly fine. Nothing could ever go wrong when you're near. When you're not around there's always these thoughts going through my mind that something could go wrong, or most likely will go wrong. It eats away at me until I see your face, see your blue eyes look up at me._

_Then I know. Everything's okay. Mark's okay, I'm okay. Things are alright._

_When I'm with you, everything just feels so right. Like that's how it's supposed to be. Like it's just supposed to be me and you. I feel like I'm home. There's no where else that I'd rather be than at your side, watching you film and narrate. Even when you get snarky during the narration because you don't know what you want to film and it annoys the hell out of you._

_Sometimes I don't like it when you film me, simply because I don't think I'm good enough to be in one of your films. But I can't be mad. You're just doing what you do and I love you for it. I love you for simply being you._

_I hope that someday I'll come home, we'll be living together at this point, and be able to wrap you in my arms and you wrap your arms around me. And when I say 'Hey, baby. I'm home.' It won't be because I'm home in the apartment or flat or house. It'll be because I'm home in your arms._

_Love,_

_Your Secret Admirer._

Mark almost wanted to cry. He'd never been told something like this before. It was moving and so deeply personal that he felt like he'd just been let in on some big secret. He folded the letter and slowly slipped it back into its envelope. Roger frowned as he looked at Mark's expression. He was smiling but it was a tentative. 

"What's wrong?" He asked. Hopefully he succeeded in keeping the worry out of his voice and made it more curious. Had he written something wrong in his letter? God, he hoped he hadn't offended Mark. That was the last thing he wanted! Mark shook his head, laughing softly. 

"No. Nothing wrong," He said, his fingers stroking the envelope like he did with his camera. "I don't even know who this person is and I think I'm falling for them." He laughed again. "That's pretty stupid, isn't it?" Roger smiled and threw an arm around Mark's shoulders.

"Nah. That's actually cute," He said with a laugh. His heart swelled. Mark liked the letter. A lot. He was happy, and proud of himself. Mark blushed and looked down, shoving Roger playfully. 

"Shut up," He muttered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Roger ruffled Mark's hair as he pulled his arm away. That was when an idea hit him. An idea for a movie. A scripted movie at that. God, he hadn't written one of those in a very, very long time. He suddenly stood. "Sorry. Got an idea. I gotta go write it down." He moved quickly into his bedroom and Roger smirked. He picked up his guitar and started going through the cords of a song he'd been trying to finish. 

Maybe Mark's inspiration would rub off on him and he'd get inspired to finish it. He really hoped so. 

~~~MR~~~

February third, 1992 2:23 P.M. EST. Roger took the offered joint from Collins, but his eyes never left the half finished letter in the typewriter. He passed his back and went right back to typing. This was the final installment to the series of letters. This one would give Mark a meeting time, date, and place. He was nervous even as he wrote it. 

What if Mark saw him waiting for him and got disgusted? What if he thought it was all a big joke? What if he hated him for it? What if-what if-what if? So many 'what if's ran around in his head. He sighed and leaned back for a moment before finally typing out his fate. The time. The place. The date. 

He'd just have to wait and see what Mark's reaction would be. He'd still love the dorky filmmaker even if he came out of this hating Roger. He still feared what would happen and for the next few days it showed that he was moping. Mark went into his room on February fifth at 3:12 P.M. and came back with the two joints Collins had given him as a get well present. 

They smoked them together and became a couple of giggling messes against each other on the floor. Roger came to an understanding with himself then. If Mark hated him after finding out that he was his secret admirer then he would be sad, but he would have finally admitted his feelings to him. That would be enough. Just to know that Mark knew he loved him. That would have to be enough if he hated him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!! :D


	5. The Final Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry that I'm posting this so late in the game. Life has been a bitch lately...

February tenth, 1992 5:53 P.M. EST. Mark sat in the chair in the living room staring at the letter in his hands. It was from his secret admirer. Typed out in the same way as all the other. But this one was different. It tore away the illusion that the letters were the only thing that Mark would know of them. It was the final one. 

_Dear Mark,_

_I can't wait any longer. I have to reveal who I am to you. There's nothing more to it. I love you too much to keep you in the dark anymore. I need to know if you can love me back._

_Meet me at the Life Café at 7:00 P.M. on February 14th. Valentine's Day. No better day than that, is there? I'll be waiting at the table in the back, right hand corner of the café. So you know it's me, I'll have a blue orchid flower with me._

_I love you, Mark Cohen._

_Love,_

_Your Secret Admirer._

Roger was up on the roof trying to get inspired while Mark read the letter over and over again. He folded it and put it into the envelope. He stood and walked automatically to his room, placing the letter into the drawer with the others. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor between his sneakers.  
Was he ready for this? Was he really ready to move on from loving Roger? He didn't know. He wasn't sure. But the sweet words in the letters told him that he had a chance at love with someone. He sighed and smiled softly. Yeah...he could do this. 

~~~MR~~~

February fourteenth, 1992 4:23 P.M. EST. Roger shrugged on his jacket and looked over at Mark. He smirked. 

"I'm gonna go out and see if I can get a gig," He said, moving to ruffle Mark's hair. "Don't stress so much, Marky. It'll be fine." Mark had told Roger that he'd be meeting his secret admirer today, but not the place, time, or that the person would have a blue orchid with them. Mark laughed softly, nervousness coloring the sound. 

"I'll try," He said. "Later, Rog." Roger waved as he left the loft. He'd brought his guitar with him to keep up appearances about going to get a gig. He dropped the guitar off at Collins' apartment before heading to a flower shop to pick out the orchid he'd bring with him to the Life Café. He was just as nervous as Mark, if not more so. 

Mark changed into his best sweater and corduroys, threw on his jacket and wound his scarf around his neck tightly. He grabbed his bag and placed his camera inside before pulling it over his shoulder. He sighed and checked the time. 5:56 P.M. He had time. 

He walked to the Life Café, taking the long way and stopping to film a few couples. It dawned on him that he and his secret admirer just might be one of these lovey-dovey couples in the near future. He shut off his camera and placed it back into his bag. He found himself standing at the door of the Life Café at 6:58 P.M. Just in time. 

Nervously he pushed open the door and looked around. He took a deep breath and walked towards the back, making his way around the tables. He stopped short of the back right hand table and frowned slightly. What? 

"Roger?" He said in surprise as he saw his roommate sitting there. Roger grinned. 

"Hey Marky," He said standing. There was a pale blue orchid between the fingers of his left hand. Mark's eyes widened. No. This couldn't be right... Roger was his secret admirer?! How-? What-? He couldn't think properly. Maybe his brain had shut down. Roger shifted, looking nervous. "I-...I guess I owe you an explanation, don't I?" Mark nodded. 

Roger motioned for Mark to sit down and the filmmaker obeyed silently. He pulled his camera from his bag and clutched it like a life line, trying to calm down. Roger sat down and placed the orchid between them, folding his arms against the table and leaning against them. 

"Like I said in my letters, I've been in love with you for a while," Roger started, searching Mark's face, gauging his reaction. "I was never able to admit it to myself, though. Mimi...before she died, she told me to stop being a chicken shit and tell you. She'd known that I loved you even when I wasn't able to admit it. It was so blatantly obvious, apparently." He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "I knew I couldn't say it out loud just yet. So, I talked to Collins to try and figure out a way to tell you. We came up with the idea of the letters. It helped a lot. We had it all planned out. Five letters. The last one giving a meeting place and time. We had the date picked out too. Valentine's Day. So...there it is. Well?" 

He waited. Watching Mark as the filmmaker remained quiet. So quiet. It scared Roger. He chewed on his bottom lip and looked away. He couldn't stand the silence between them. It was unbearable. The noises around them grew louder and louder until Roger felt like he might drown in them. 

"Jesus, Mark. Say something," He pleaded, looking up at him again. Mark's eyes had become wet with unshed tears and he laughed softly, wiping at his eyes. Roger's eyes widened and he stood, moving quickly around the table to pull Mark up and hug him tightly. Mark held him just as tightly.

"You idiot!" Mark bit, but it held no venom. Just affection. Roger laughed softly.

"Yeah, I know," He said, gently rubbing circles into Mark's back. "So...what do you say?" 

"Jesus, Rog...I love you so much," Mark murmured against Roger's shoulder, his arms tightening around the rocker. "I can't believe this is happening! I though for sure you didn't love me. That we'd never be anything more than just friends." 

"Well, I just proved you wrong, Marky," Roger said, pulling back and tilting Mark's chin up. He gently wiped the tears from Mark's eyes before leaning down and pressing his lips to the filmmaker's. Mark made a soft sound and melted into the kiss as he returned it. "I love you, Marky. " He murmured against his lips when the kiss ended. 

"I love you too, Roger," Mark replied with a wide smile. Roger reached towards the table and picked up the orchid, tucking it behind Mark's ear. 

"And happy Valentine's Day," He said with a smirk. Mark laughed and kissed him again. This was definitely the best day of his life. 

~~~MR~~~

February fifteenth, 1992 7:21 A.M. EST. Roger Davis looked down at the blond filmmaker curled up against his chest with a soft smile. How the hell he'd gotten by without telling Mark he loved him for so long he had no idea. But he knew he wasn't about to let him go. Not ever. His arms tightened around Mark and he sighed. 

The sun rose over Alphabet City, peaking in on the couple in the loft, curled up in bed together. They may have been starving, cold, and broke, but they were happier than they'd ever been. And that's all that mattered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this. I know it's not my best work, but I still had fun with it.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there's chapter one. I hope you guys liked it! I'll be adding a chapter (or two) a week. Please let me know what you thought!


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